


Handpicked Battle B****

by Goddess of the Forsaken (Sparkle_Bunny)



Category: Blood Drive (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Death, Dystopia, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-01-20 17:33:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12438045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparkle_Bunny/pseuds/Goddess%20of%20the%20Forsaken
Summary: They say revenge is a dish best served cold; well this one’s frozen, cryogenically frozen.You’ve played the long game. It’s my turn now.**warning** Adult themes, vulgar language, scenes of violence. Welcome to the Blood Drive.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer and Note:
> 
> From here on out, any and all intellectual properties, that can be recognised as being part of the Blood Drive Television series, or Song Lyrics, do not belong to me. I am borrowing for the sake of entertainment purposes. All song lyrics are referenced as footnotes, and are available on youtube (at least in the UK).
> 
> Blood Drive itself is an Adult programme, so expect the same themes, course language, violence and nudity within. This is your warning. Turn back now if it's not your cup of tea.
> 
> This piece is dedicated to my Beta reader, Pudge :)

Julian Slink stumbled through the Blood Gate back to the burning embers of the Mayhem Party. The earlier appearance of Jack and Diane had given a stiflingly chaste aftertaste to quite a salacious evening. The usual ruckus was nowhere to be seen, even the diehard Mayhemers were sexed out, and hiding away somewhere. The only signs of life were the fire pits, which themselves dreadfully close to expiring.

            On the plus side, coming here to Meadeville, had resolved one, of the many, long standing issues for Heart Enterprises; not that anyone would credit him as such. No longer was there living evidence of the failed passion potion, The Dionysus Strain, and the remains of the laboratory would be nought but ash in the wind, once the admin team had blown through town in the following days.

With the state of the world, it didn’t really matter about clearing up, but there was a pretty little thing in the office, whose sole job was to keep the company looking clean. ‘Just in case the world gets better’ her sing song voice often called. She was human, and her outlook was like a breath of fresh air whenever he was called into Headquarters. Sad thing was he’d reroute the Blood Drive at the tip of a hat, just to see her rare smiles.

Big, bad, and oh so mad; but Julian Slink was still a gentleman at heart.

Walking across the camp, Slink was eternally pleased to see his tent. Some rest was in order before he hauled his arse back to the office, for a continuation of tonight’s head fuckery. He noted that there was no one guarding his tent, although after the events, preceding Heart’s attempted arse kicking, the lack of persons could be justified. He made a mental note to speak with Rasher at the earliest convenience.

 

            Walking straight through his receiving room, and into the area he reserved for his own entertainment, Julian found himself stood stock still, thoroughly amused at the sight before his eyes. Laid brazenly across his sofa was one Electra Frohne. Quite the delectable woman, and a skilled Blood Driver. Her hair was spread across one of the arms; so long, so luscious, so red, it put the blood they fed their engines to shame. She lay with her ankles crossed and feet over the opposing arm, admiring, what could only be his whiskey, in the light. She had yet to notice him, and was quite happy humming a terribly familiar tune to herself.

            “I see my red head, messed bed, tear shed, Queen Bee.” He sang, a smile tugging involuntarily at his lips when she jumped.

            Electra took pretty much no time at all to recover, “My squeeze,” she purred without skipping a beat. She swung toned legs around and came across to greet him, “The Stage, it smells, tells, hell’s bells, misspells, knocks me on my knees.[1]” She continued their impromptu duet, swapping bourbon, for top hat and brief case, placing them carefully on a nearby table, giving him quite the view of her delightful derriere, and the tantalising garden between.

            Little had he expected it, but he had to admit, there was just something about being greeted with a kiss from a voluptuous woman, and more than a couple of fingers of whiskey. And it definitely helped when said woman was wearing naught but a scrap of lace and one of his shirts.

            “Bad day at the office?” her voice was a melody, the sweet and tangy sugar syrup to his head fuck. “Let me help, sweetness.” Her hands were all over him, as her body stayed just that little too far to be anything but a fucking prick tease.

            With care Electra guided him towards his private boudoir, the room that barely anyone but him was allowed to enter. Ensuring that none of his precious liquor was spilt, she pushed him to sit on the edge of his bed. Kneeling at his feet, she unlaced his boots; removing them and his socks.

            A kiss was stolen from his lips before her nimble fingers worked at his braces and buttons. The shirt was off; her body held in his embrace, kisses shared, as she’d brushed the material down his arms. The tumbler was placed safely on the side, and his shirt folded over the chair, before the bewitching creature spoke again.

            “Let’s get you comfortable, oh Master of Mayhem,” her tone was sultry, her smirk downright wicked. “Let’s wash all of those arseholes away. Let me help you slip away into pure pleasure.”

            As he tried to reaffirm his weakness, she placed a calm shushing finger to his lips. The glint in her eyes had him shuffling back towards the headboard, as she crawled towards him, and up his body.

            The wicked smirk upon her lips, had a rush of arousal flooding through him. Julian found himself pinned against the cold metal frame, Electra straddled across his groin.

            Her hands cradled his face, as she whispered, “trust me,” before drawing him into a deep, prolonged, ardent kiss

            All thoughts but Electra left his mind, his hands leaving his control. Running themselves across her body, committing her curves to the depths of his conscious. Hands squeezing, caressing, scratching. The shirt of his, she had been wearing, torn open, one of his favourites, ruined, but he no longer cared.

            A long forgotten pressure began to build within him. Lips crashing together, gasping for breath in moments spared. Hearts hammering against rib cages.

            She’d pushed him into submission, it didn’t mean he wanted to stay there. Hands grasped at each other, Julian found his senses heightened to levels where all he could process was Electra, and the way her curves felt beneath the rough treatment of his hands. Her breasts crushed against his chest. His nerve endings were on fire, tingles that he wished would stop, but begged they would continue.

            Involuntarily his hips began thrusting and gyrating against the goddess above him. She moaned into their kisses, proving only how much she was enjoying their liaison.

            The pressure building inside of him reached its passionate ebullition, his fingers dug into her skin, as his body tensed and became rigid.

            Like a gunshot the moment was over; Electra’s kisses lost their ardency, gaining a tenderness, as their titillations came to an end. She eased her body from his, and found a comfortable position at his side.

            Julian, lost for words, wrapped an arm around her, while he tried to get his faculties back. Never had he felt such bliss; he’d seen the experience upon the faces of others, it had looked so sinfully satisfying. Now he could see why so many religions had considered such carnal gratification as vulgar and depraved.

            Closing his eyes, he drifted off; flashes of a buxom red head, swaying her hips as she walked away. The tickling linger of a kiss upon his cheek.

 

[1] Lyrics from _In Hell I’ll Be in Good Company_ from The Dead South


	2. I - Let Me Set the Scene

**I - Let me set The Scene**

_**1998** _

_Heart Enterprises_

The room, while inviting compared to the damp basement corridors leading up to it, was cool and clinical. The walls were painted in that uniform hospital cream. The little that could be called furniture was either an aged, off white plywood construct, or a dull metal; nothing looked new, or comfortable. The only colour belonged to the two cryogenic patients; one male, one female.

The dates on the pods read 1972 and 1957 respectively. They'd both been in this secluded area longer than he'd been stumbling around on this rotten corpse of a planet.

Every year he was sent with a new assistant or intern to perform routine maintenance checks upon the computer systems, or update them to be compatible to the systems running in the main building. This laboratory, because it didn't resemble the other mass storage rooms that were used for cryogenic pods, wasn't connected to the mainframe; they were actually required to attend to run updates.

He pondered how the pair had gotten here, but had learned long ago not to ask. His assistants, however, were far too curious for their own good; this was the reason they were new, every year.

As far as he was concerned, the patients were company assets. The pair were probably not connected, or if they were it was part of some tragic and twisted tale. The pods had dates, but no names. The female, always looked tranquil, almost sleeping. There were bruises across her body, and cuts that had been in the process of healing when she was frozen. Whoever had put her there had battered her first, yet had taken great care that her features would not be marred when she finally awoke.

The male, even from a quick glance, looked too be in a far worse condition. His bruises were fresher, still a dark back-blue than a faded healing yellow-brown. He'd had a good going over before he was placed in the freezing pod, and the level of care had been barely adequate.

"Are we nearly finished?" His assistant sounded rather shaky, and had looked particularly unsettled the whole time they'd been working away.

"I am, if you are." The computer he'd been working on had declared itself fit and was already closed down. He was quite happy to pack up his things while his assistant ran around checking everything; he had trust in the assistant, to ensure everything was right, he'd been training him for the past year after all.

He could understand the nerves, this room wasn't the most comfortable of places to work, and for Heart Enterprises, that was saying something. The whole company wasn't exactly a run of the mill office.

They locked the room as they left. Their footfalls being the only sounds echoing in the damp corridor, as they left Project Jezebel behind.

"It's kinda sad," the assistant spoke into the stagnant air.

The conversation was beginning again, such a similar topic that occurred time and time again.

"It's almost like some one hates them... I mean, looking at them, they'd have been about the same age when she was put on ice..."

He didn't respond to the comments; he'd rather lose another assistant than have some higher up decide to have his scrotum as a pencil case.

"I mean, you can imagine her reaching for him.

"It's weird, I know there's clones and everything. But we basically see Him everyday.

"this company was built on blood. I think it was theirs..."

He didn't even flinch when he heard the bag hit the floor. The AKI unit had followed them along the corridor. He knew the routine, any moment now the intern would be dead, and a couple of pills would come his way.

He wouldn't forget, it would just become so much of a blur in his subconscious, that the previous events would be inconsequential.

...

Flossy was just about to leave her office, to join the clean up team, when the alert sounded on her computer. Buzzing her secretary she asked for one of the cars to be held, she wasn't expecting much of a delay. She refused to be left behind at the office because of a simple clerical error.

With her advancing age and the increase of unknown, volatile substances contained within the offsite laboratories, it wasn't often that Flossy was sanctioned for field trips. She might run the Corrections Division of the Admin Department, but she still had to answer to the Board of Directors. And these days they strived to protect her.

She'd been looking forward to this outing as well. Some miscellaneous arm of the Research and Development had been working on a sleep tonic for the children who had been directly affected by the scar. It had worked, compared to nearly every other project, but it worked in the sense that it worked too well. The test subjects never awoke. Flossy wanted to be out there, diving head first into the research and project cleansing.

Her office computer was taking it's sweet time to boot back up. It was starting to get on her nerves, she wanted to be doing the interesting parts of her job. When they finally reached the pip squeak of a town in North Dakota, she would be the head of the task force to clear the offices. They would take anything that would be incriminating to Heart Enterprises. She would put the pieces in place that gave the image of unfortunate circumstances; that these side effects only appeared in humans. That lab would look so clean, Heart couldn't possibly own it.

That's if she ever got out of the office.

When the system had finally loaded, Flossy realised it was a good job she'd not just ignored the alert.

A cryogenic pod had been knocked offline, and was in the process of waking the patient.

"No time like the present, I suppose." She whispered to herself. Flossy quickly disabled the alarm, and made sure the system wouldn't register that the alarm had ever gone off in the first place.

She signed out of her accounts, only to sign back in with her Secretary's login information. With a few clicks, the IP address would register back to her Secretary's computer.

Now was the time to hack into the Heart Enterprises main frame. She made sure to delete any trace of the Project Jezebel files, she had back ups in secure places, Heart needed to forget. Flossy also took the time to re-activate a few dead personnel accounts. The reactivation would distract from the barely used ones that were sitting waiting for the patient to wake up.

She dropped a bread crumb trail to other sensitive documents. Documents that would knowingly get her secretary fired. The Boy didn't have anyone to provide for at home, and wasn't well liked in the office; no one would miss him.

Flossy made sure that it looked like he'd accessed the Soul Reclamator files; they'd castrate him before they killed him. And he deserved it. She didn't care what happened in other people's offices, but in this one, everyone was treated well. There was no gender inequality. The Boy had stepped out of line one too many times, and when he'd assaulted one of the office girls, the arsehole had signed his own death warrant. No matter whether she was pissed or completely mortalled, he had no rights to her body when there was no consent.

After closing down her station, she left the office with no guilt.

She was off to do what she did best, sweep all the problems under the carpet.

...

_Blood Drive_

"Daddy?!"

The disembodied voice startled him. It's feminine notes brushed across his consciousness; the singular word rang with tones of horror, confusion and an undeniable sadness. Whoever it belonged to sounded about ready to break.

A quick glance around him revealed no one but himself and Rasher in the tent. The Heart gifted baby sitter was passed out across the sofa. It amused Slink that the heavily decorated Yes man could handle pain but not decent liquor.

Continuing his processes of getting ready for the day, Slink wondered whether someone was messing with the software installed within him. Heart Enterprises did seem to get crueller and more blood thirsty every year.

As he tied and straightened his cravat, Julian Slink couldn't help but question who the voice had belonged to. It could have just been a case of crossed wires, but nothing seemed to happen around him without it being for a specific point. To the best of his knowledge there were no miniature Slinks on the shit-stained excuse of a planet. Unless someone who was more than morally questionable, had been conducting experiments down in the belly of Heart; that he could believe, there were plenty of places he did not have access to.

Never had he expected to be called 'Daddy', the only previous times he'd earned that title, was when he'd been desperate enough to go down on Vamps or Road Trash at the mayhem parties over the years.

The voice hadn't been lusty or sexual. And as terror filled as it was, it lacked the shrill, high pitch of a child. There had been an underlying tenderness, the sort that one might give a lover.

He picked up his top hat and left Rasher comfortably passed out. The race must go on after all. He pushed the distracting thoughts from his mind. Someone would pick up Rasher when camp packed up, today Slink got to drive. His driver wasn't conscious after all, and his precious Bentley spent far too long being hauled around on a trailer.

What was the point of running a race if he didn't get to enjoy it? He'd installed a Blood engine into his baby for a reason.

Approaching the stage he was glad to see that the party was pretty much packed up. The groupies and Mayhemers had nearly all hit the road, they had a head start on the racers. A couple of sharp glances and smirks in the right direction and the crew were off to pack up his accommodation. With any luck, Rasher would be packed away, along with everything else that was in his tent.

The starting line was near enough full. Everyone who should be there was, there were no deserters today. It had been fun chasing down those idiots a couple of stages back; free for all on whoever was lucky enough to catch one; most got used as fuel. Or were eventually used as fuel, one positively grotesque racer was hauled around as a hostage for days, losing bits and pieces one at a time. That team definitely got bonus carnage points. This was the penultimate stage before the Battle Dome, it didn't do anyone any good to back out now.

They'd be leaving North Dakota, with approximately sixteen hours on the road.

He was warming up for his beautiful piece of motivational speaking when he notices his pride and joy had been brought round to join the racers. The confused looks were stunning. They knew that no one joined the race this late.

He could see the word 'Primo' being passed on in whispers.

"Alright, you Mother Fuckers. I hope your balls have dropped. We're racing through the Dark Forests into Michigan. It's one  _Hell_  of a ride."

As he hopped off the stage the racers stood dumbstruck as he walked towards the unclaimed car on the line. His hat and cane had been thrown in the passenger seat; he was getting settled behind the wheel before he realised that the other racers had yet to enter their vehicles.

"You Pussies too scared to race with me?"

Julian Slink was far too happy to be back behind the wheel of his Mark VI Bentley. As far as things went today he was free, even if just for a little while. Today there would be no ridiculous conference calls and no desk warriors interfering with his race.

Oh, he'd be watched, there was to be no escape from this rat race. But all Heart Enterprises could do was watch. There'd probably be a desk jockey waiting at the rendezvous, but he'd deal with that when he reached them.

The lights changed and Julian left his racers in the dust. He figured they'd catch up eventually.

Something was changing within Julian, and he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

A tear stained voice echoed in his mind, "you my dear, are fucking fabulous."

Despite the sadness he could hear, Julian smiled.

...

_Project Jezebel_

There was no sound in the laboratory apart from the quiet hissing of a flashing pod. The system was ticking over, working methodically to wake its patient. One of the computers was humming to itself, continually monitoring the sleeping beauty. The chip that had been implanted along the optic nerve allowed the computer to monitor everything from brain activity to body temperature.

The patient's body temperature had been slowly rising. It had been twelve hours since the computer update and the anxious intern. Twelve hours since, what looked like, an insignificant cable was unhooked.

With a beep the pod opened and the patient took her first breath in over forty years. Her toes stretches and fingers wiggled. Her back arched, working out decades of kinks, pushing her amble bosom into the frigid air. Her nipples tightened, and a shiver ran through her, proving just how cold the basement rooms were.

Her body relaxed back onto her pillows, and she opened her eyes. Beautiful sea foam peepers looked out on a world that had changed more than she ever could have imagined.

Eyes focused on the uniform pitted cream ceiling tiles while her brain processed the information the chip was implanting into her mind. Every so often there was a blink, when a train of thought came to an end. Usually up against a wall; 'No access to the system mainframe: live feed disabled' flashed through her vision.

Her husband was dead.

The son she was forced to bear ran the company.

Her lover was enslaved to the company. Three thousand clones worth of enslavement. His deaths, each and every one, flashed before her.

Once the system had finished she lay in her pod contemplating. The life she had before was gone. Nothing she did was going to do was going to reclaim or recover it.

The Company was rotten to its core. No longer were they standing on the values they had been built upon, the heart been taken from Heart Enterprises. No longer did it value the human life it had once worked so hard to preserve.

Sitting up, she looked around. The room was pretty bare, and didn't look as if people often dropped in. There was an obvious layer of dust was gathered over most surfaces. Someone had been in recently; it didn't take a former housewife to see the clean patches. To her left there was a second pod, still in hibernation.

Hauling herself out of her pod, on toned pins that hadn't been used in far too long, she stumbled over to see who else was contained in this grimy experiment room.

"Daddy?!"

She was horrified at what they had done to him. Her body might be covered in healing bruises, and for good reason; 'Dead wife!' was the last thing she remembered her husband saying as he beat the living daylights out of her. But him, oh what had they done?

He may look peaceful in sleep, but the flesh that wasn't covered in a shift similar to hers, was a deep purple colour. His eyes were swollen, and many of his limbs were bandaged up. He looked older than she remembered, but his pod registered that he had been frozen in 1972, fifteen years after she last remembered seeing him.

"What did they do to you?" tears began to well up in her eyes. What had her actions caused? She had done this to them. But she'd done it for love.

She was swept away by a wave of sadness, collapsing to the floor beside him. She wanted to see his piercing brown eyes staring at her, she wanted to feel his strong arms wrapped around her. This is what happened to them because she couldn't let go of love.

Sadness made way for acrimony, exasperation and fury. If her Husband's company could get away with this, their beatings, their experiments. Then wasn't she allowed her turn.

Taking a deep breath, she controlled herself. As her mother used to tell her, there was no point crying over spilt milk. She had to put herself back on her feet, and show them that she still knew how to live.

Closing her eyes, she tried to remember his voice, it was hard to recall after all these years, but those theatrical tones were there. "You my dear are Fucking Fabulous, flattery will get  _you_  everywhere." She whispered to herself, his seductive inflection murmured at the edge of her consciousness.

She struggled to her feet and looked at him through the toughened glass. If a man could steal her world, then she could take it all back and more. Placing a kiss to the glass she began plotting.

The unfaithful shuck thought he could cover up both of their indiscretions, thought she might die easy. Well she'd managed to dig a brass knife in his shoulder before he'd put her here. His legacy would feel a stab a little bigger than a letter opener.

"The will bend at the knee, I promise you."

They say that revenge is a dish best served cold. Well this one was fucking frozen.


	3. II - Thrill Him or Kill Him?

**II – Thrill him or Kill him?**

_**1999** _

_I-5 South Bound_

The Big Apple to The City of Angels was one hell of a long drive, especially with a fucking tear through the middle of the Land of the Brave. The good old US of A was pretty much split in two. It had been a lonely trek, but there was a splinter of light at the end, soon she would be around responsive people.

There was only so much information that Electra had managed to gather. Her limited access to the Heart Enterprises system had given her plenty of things to think about, and a wealth of knowledge, but none of it was current. Winning this race would make her Primo, and the Primo had access to pretty much everything, she'd have the run of the place.

The world was broken, Electra was only going to break it a little more. Perhaps there'd also be time for a little nooky on the side.

It turned out that a handsome car and a classy chassis worked wonders for keeping the tank full. Men turned out to be just as lecherous as she remembered, if not more so. She'd learned a lot about the changes in men's behaviour, and how to cut up a corpse while on the road. Settlements had been few and far between as she rounded the scar.

The brave looked like damn cowards, they fucking ran away.

Electra was determined to make it to the starting line. The quickest route had been to head North, travel along the Canadian side of the border, before turning South and journeying through Montana, Idaho and Nevada. There's been plenty of fuel until she'd brushed though the edge of North Dakota. It seemed that even being on the American side of the border was too close to the scar for some people. Although there were reports that the mar on the landscape was growing, soon there would be no where for the population to run.

All of her plotting and planning was culminating in the death race she was speeding towards. Electra had schemed her sadistic little heart out, she would have her revenge and it would be spectacular.

The inaugural mayhem party was waiting for her in LA, and there was a delightful piece of ass would be it's presiding master.

...

_Unnamed Warehouse, LA_

The scene was set, roadies had worked their hearts out to get everything in place, and on time. Groupies and Racers had been steadily arriving over the past forty-eight hours. Rasher was on the main gate, doing his shift on check in. Everyone inside was either invited or vouched for, as much as they loved using the extras for fuel, this was a rather private affair.

He looked up to the roof tops, nodding at the look outs. It did no one any good to have to chase down escaping racers before they had even begun.

The chosen warehouse was a perfect starting location. Nicely tucked away into a disused industrial estate, close enough to the city highway for a quick start to the action, and far enough away that the only stragglers that crossed their path were vagabonds and junkies.

Rasher was looking forward to this years drive, the new Heart technology would make everything rather electrifying. It was clear to see that the Boss was looking forward to the power trip the control box would give him. No more feeding losers into the engines. This should be the bloodiest race yet.

The staffers had already collected a rather impressive collection of the dregs of society, there would be plenty of fuel for the engines. Both the racers and crew would be able to set off with full tanks.

He'd seen the Boss running through the racer list before people started to arrive, and was expecting to see the iconic top hat hovering around the entrance gate soon. There were all but two to arrive. And if the loud exhale of frustration had indicated anything, Julian Slink wanted to know just who had been substituted into his race.

Rasher had watched all year as Slink had handpicked his racers, carefully manipulated them into position., and watched as they tore a place for themselves in the world. It had been a horror when the Company had indicated their express interest in the Battle Bitch.

The change in the register had been noted by both him and his boss. Homicidal Maniacs were replaced with Electra Frohne. On one hand, it meant there would be more beer to go around, one less body that might need disposing of. On the other, no one knew what this Bitch was capable of.

When she finally arrived, it would be wonderful to put a face to the name. He could only hope that she managed to live up to the spectacle that Slink had slaved at to create.

...

Los Angeles looked nothing like she remembered it. No longer did it look inviting; the Company had really done one Hell of a number on the once vibrant city.

Electra remembered once walking through busy streets, full of colour and life. The weather had been beautiful during her visit, her husband almost as warm as the suns rays. He'd also been more than generous with his wallet. When she'd last roamed the city, she'd enjoyed every moment.

New clothes, new shoes and fancy meals at posh restaurants had definitely helped.

Heart Senior had actually managed to make her feel guilty for her singular love affair, compared to his many. That weekend he'd been the kind of man she had wished she had married. A man who was kind and caring, who doted on her and their son. It helped that he had spoiled her rotten.

And now she was back in the City of Flowers and Sunshine, driving one of his precious motor cars. That man had loved his imported cars and loose women more than the woman he married. He'd been a cold man, an unloving monster.

It seemed only fitting that the imported wife was waging war on his legacy in one of his sports cars.

It was near enough midday when she arrived at the warehouse. It was located in the delightfully dingy area of town. Electra noted the look outs on the roof tops, as a tattooed rake came towards her car. He'd have looked tough and scary if he hadn't been so skinny.

A scanner came towards her face. "I need your eyeball."

With a smile, she leaned towards him; there were no nerves, she'd entered herself into the race. Everything would check out.

Once she had been waved in, Electra pulled her car alongside the others near the starting line. It was a good chance to check out the competition.

Electra hadn't even stepped out of her car when her ears were assaulted with the tones of Received Pronunciation.

"My, my, an actual lady."

Looking the owner of the voice up and down, she saw a man in a well tailored three piece, who clearly thought too much of himself.

"A rarity in these parts." His voice was grinding on her already.

"Miss Frohne. And you are?" She quite happily handed him a platter of disrespect, as she stepped from the car and headed to the trunk. Her ride needed topping up, and the buckets of blood would do the trick without messing up her dress.

"The Gentleman, and there beside the Mercedes Benz is my racing companion, The Scholar." It appeared that the man was anything but a gent, the tone he used towards his partner downright derogatory.

"please to meet you." Electra could hold a polite conversation, even if the conversing party was a letch.

"Quite the car you have. A classic, I believe?"

"Um hum," Electra busied herself pouring the stored blood into the hungry engine.

"Aston Martin, DB5. Very pretty. 1964?" The Gentleman at least got the hint not to come any closer, didn't stop him trying to flirt his way though.

"Uh huh," she'd become bored with the man almost as soon as he opened his mouth. "Original run as well."

"Not quite up to this race though. She's pretty, but rather outdated."

Electra rolled her eyes; now that man had just revealed how much of a cunt he really was.

"Darling," she drawled before chewing him out, "just because he looks like a classic, doesn't mean he drives like one."

God, that man was a walking penis. It was then that Electra made her mind up that at some point she'd watch him burn. The rules stopped her from smashing his head in with a crowbar, but she was pretty sure there were some extra points for running him off the road.

Slink had been approaching in the shadows when he heard the Gentleman being thoroughly chastised, it was rather amusing to see The Gentleman slope away. It seemed that The God of the Stage wasn't the only one The Gentleman rubbed up the wrong way, it was going to be fun watching that man's head explode.

Julian figured it might be a good opportunity to inject himself into conversation. Running his fingers along the wings of the Aston martin, he mirrored her path from engine to trunk, keeping the car between them.

"Well hello there," he looked her up and down; the blue dress she was wearing hugged her curves in all the right places, and those stunningly high stilettoes she was wearing did make him wonder whether her butt was always so perky.

"Flattery may get you many places, Mr Slink; but don't touch my car."

Her voice was silky smooth and harshly pointed.

A shiver ran down his spine. Ooh, this woman was something. "Only the car?" he couldn't help but flirt.

"Smooth, like apple butter," Electra smiled, "it's gonna take a little more than sweet talk Honey, I don't just let anyone manhandle this." With a wink she closed the trunk and slipped away into the party.

Julian tipped his hat to the woman. She would either thrill him or kill him. It was going to be fun figuring out which.


	4. III - To Your Marks

**III – To Your Marks**

_1999_

_Inaugural Mayhem Party_

The party was in full swing, an Electra was comfortable swigging beer on the hood of her car. She'd found the perfect perch to check out her competition. While the Vamps and the Road Trash were leaking from the shadows into the dance pit before the stage, Electra managed to suss out the non-competitive racers. As the world was falling apart at the seams, she supposed this would be the perfect place for the thrill seekers and grave chasers.

Most of the serious competitors, like Electra, were stood near their vehicles. Watching the mayhem with caution.

She noted Domi and Cliff were scanning the crowd from their vantage point. There was little love between them as they stayed close to their precious hybrid. Having spoken with the pair earlier, Electra had discovered that they had quite the history of violence between them, they could make quite the formidable team. Domi had confided that the pair were hoping that the race would bring them back together, maybe rekindle a bit of magic; the lusty flicker in the woman's eyes had suggested that perhaps Electra join them for a tumble.

Somewhere there must have once been a spark between Domi and her husband, but whatever it had been was long gone. Together they'd have made amazing friends, but their belief in the vows they made to one another was stifling them. Stood side by side, they were candles in this coal mine of grunge and grime; too clean, to well put together. Even Electra had shifted from her day dress to blend in with the masses; the leather trousers were so comfortable, she wondered why she had never bothered trying such things before.

Over by the stage, she noted, The Gentleman stood with his racing cohort. There was envy in his eyes; the Gent wasn't just here for the title of Primo. It was clear his dreams and ambitions were bigger than just the race, that they didn't include his lovesick travelling companion, but what he desired exactly was tucked well beneath his shell.

Electra was looking forward to the day that she would be able to leave The Gentleman, and his Mercedes Benz, in the dust. The day she'd only see him in the rear view mirror.

The Scholar was a bit of an oddball, rumour had it he was a wizard with mechanics. But it was clear that he was under the rule of his taller team mate.

Amongst the throng of sweaty bodies were some of the more thrill seeking racers. One in particular was making quite the name for himself within the ranks of wanton flirts; Clown Dick. It was clear that he was getting his kicks from smoking pot and getting his dick wet with whichever fuck bunny was next on the list. The night was yet an infant, and yet he'd already collected quite the number on notches on his metaphorical bedpost.

He'd eyed her lasciviously as she'd meandered away from the beer tent. If that clown thought he was going to see anything south of the border, he was going to be thoroughly disappointed. Although she did have to applaud him, that man must have something going for him. Going by his appearance he looked more likely to eat you, than eat you out.

The music suddenly changed and all attention was turned to the stage. Out from behind the curtain appeared their master of ceremonies.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Bastards and Tramps, Bloodsuckers, Mother Fuckers, Road Trash and Vamps," his voice was as seductive as ever, Electra felt a shiver flash down her spine and morph into tingles in her quim.

Blind to the crowd, Julian Slink continued with his opening speech, "to the queers and the strange, in the crowd, and on the stage… the violent, malevolent and those seeking a grave.  _Welcome home!_

"It's been a cold dark year, I'm so glad to see your grease stained faces. Your filthy smiles. I am your host, Julian Slink. Master of Ceremonies, God of the Stage.

"Welcome to the meanest, nastiest, filthiest road race in the world. BLOOD DRIVE!"

There was an infectious enthusiasm rolling off the crowd. Watching the waifs and strays being unwillingly fed into the machines was divine. When he called the racers forth to the stages, he counted them off in his head. They were all here, all ready to received their tracking devices. Rasher began to process of implanting the pulse charges.

"As some of you know, we had a few quitters last year." He'd enjoyed feeding them to his engine, before burning out their cars.

The crowd were superbly vocal in their acknowledgement of the weak; nobody liked a candy ass.

"I know, I know. Forgive and forget… alright so we  _killed_  the  _sons of bitches_." He was enjoying this crowd, so responsive, so exciting. "No matter, no matter. This year we have an incentive…" he wondered how many would try and make a run for it before their charges were fitted. "A state of the art pulse charge, fitted at the base of the skull."

No one was heading for the hills yet.

"A bit barbaric? Perhaps. Shamefully pedantic? Without a doubt." Domi looked far too excited to have hers fitted, her husband on the other hand, not so much. Ooh, there was pure unadulterated panic in his eyes. "But by golly, if it won't do the trick."

"Anyone trying to remove the pulse charges," he dramatically flicked his sunglasses down his nose, with a cross eyed sideways glance. "Instant brain jelly."

Oh the crowd liked the idea of spontaneous fear fuelled carnage. He began to notice some of the other competitors getting jittery, they were realising just what they had signed up for. Did any of them really think that they were going back to normal lives after this?

However Grace d'Argento and Electra Frohne just eyed him determinedly. Hmm, two racers who weren't just here for the glory. This could get interesting.

"If you're racing with a partner, your charges are linked." So this was where Cliff decided he couldn't hack it. Very interesting. Julian noted that appearances between the Husband and Wife duo weren't deceiving; the pair really did have problems, not to worry, the race would solve them all. There was only  _one_  Primo after all.

"Get too far apart… bye, bye cranium." One of the roadies had caught the runaway Cliff. Per-ching. There went his tag.

"Each day, racers will be given a prescribed route. But no matter where you are, I'll be watching…"

A stray thought of how much of a prick tease she could be flitted across Electra's mind.

"And so will our audience, on closed circuit TV!"

As quick as the thought had appeared, it disappeared again. Those cameras caught everything in real time; there was no ten second delay, no studio editing… everything was broadcast as it happened. If someone wanted to watch one driver for the whole of their race then it was absolutely possible. The only privacy came from the tents at the Mayhem Parties, and that wasn't a definite, if Slink thought there would be some good drama, then the tents were given cameras too. True seclusion came from the depths of the shadows.

Although… the man she remembered thrived off the fear of being caught. There was a peculiar ecstasy in moments others may see.

Electra could still toy with him, she might just have to be careful as to how much.

The reality of coming in last really sank in when she felt the gun at the back of her neck. It didn't take two seconds for the charge to settle against her spinal column, but the anxious thrill left a continuous buzz in her veins.

Then from somewhere behind her came a crashing interruption to proceedings. Some fucking Contra-cop literally dropped into the party, and Grace seemed more than happy to plant a decent couple of punches to his face.

At least they would be on the road quickly.

While the masses were deciding whether the man was to be a friend or fuel, she realised just how far away from her car she had ended up. Using the distraction to her advantage, she made her way through the crowd.

"Racers to your marks! Everyone else, see you at the rendezvous!"

The crowd split and Electra brushed passes Slink, smiling back at him before disappearing into the dispersing crowd. She could have sworn a flicker of recognition flashed through his piercing gaze

There was little time to think on it. Throwing her heels on the back seat she started her engine, grateful not to have been lumbered with the cop.

The lights went from red to green and they were off.

She wasn't the first out of the industrial zone, but not the last. Thankfully. Electra didn't mind, she'd make up the time once she hit the open road; it seemed no body considered hers to be a speedy motor.

That smile, it tickled something locked deep in his subconscious. No matter, he's have time to think on it later. Now he needed to get his hands on the master control box.

Walking towards Rasher, he heard  _'Racer team violation'_.

"Who's the lame dick dumb enough… oh, wonderful." He had the control switch, they had the electro pulse charges. "Pity."

Turning the dial up, he shocked Grace and Arthur. Watching the screen, he saw the poor boy in blue collapse to the floor. He wouldn't be too sad too sad if the Heart favourite didn't make it; sure, he'd meddled, and turned her into one hell of a determined racer, but he had a new curiosity.

_'_ _Racer team reunited.'_  The box squeaked.

Good, good. They had to pack up and be on their way, preferably before the law appeared.

Julian carried the box with him, into the cab of the truck he would be riding in. The roadies had done an amazing job, nearly everything had been packed up and most of the party was already on their way to the next destination.

He flicked through the channels on the box. This race was going to be rather entertaining.

…

_Stage 1_

_Los Angeles to Arizona_

She was rather proud of her wheels. They were out of the city limits and on open highway before she could have imagined, not last but closing in on being in the middle of the pack.

Electra had every plan on spending the first few stages polling in a comfortable middle position. She was not going to make herself a target, she didn't need the excess drama, and definitely didn't need people messing with her car. No extra carnage points would come from running her off the road.

She'd already managed to piss off a number of racers at the party, it seemed that some men either didn't accept no for an answer, or just didn't understand the meaning of it. Perhaps she'd teach them a lesson, she could do with a new pair of earrings, and perhaps barbequed testicles would be the new trend.

It was a pretty simple stage, no obstacles, just good old fashioned driving. With the blood engine the Aston did much better mileage than it once had. Hopefully she'd be lucky enough to pick up a hitch-hiker along the way. They were good for a bit of company until she really needed to top up.

The open road was beautiful, and once she was comfortable with her position in the pack, Electra settled back and just continued driving.

There was plenty of time to think when there was no one else around to converse with. Oh, she'd happily kill for some company, but was eternally grateful that she hadn't been landed with the City Kitty. Just looking at him, she knew he was going to be trouble, he and Grace were still riding along at the back. They had a lot of catching up to do.

She offered Grace every sympathy, it was difficult enough getting your head around the rules as a driver. The rules that were there to protect you in the race, but that got broken all the time. You cannot kill another driver, well not directly anyway.

Explaining all of this to the pretty boy was going to be like converting the righteous.

Mulling over her thoughts, Electra was glad that Heart hadn't messed with her too much. They could have stolen all of her memories and left her as a blank slate. But no, she was hear, and thankful that she remembered how to drive. It had been quite a while, but the rust had been thoroughly shaken off.

The past year she'd taught herself mechanics, and converted the engine, upgraded the gearbox and managed to install power steering. The beauty beneath her was a gem to drive. She'd taken one of her husband's precious imports and turned it into her baby.

Driving it, she felt like a part of the machine. A number of the other racers were toddling along in automatics, the engine running on the pre-set programming. Not much fun for racing in.

Ahead she noted Domi's prized hybrid, and just a little further was a perfectly shaped corner for overtaking on the outside.

Foot to the floor, she watched the speedometer rise. Pushing her baby until it cried, Electra threw her foot down on the clutch and threw it up into sixth. The engine, thankful of the relief pushed harder. Their speed climbing further.

Whizzing past, she waved back at them. Easing off the accelerator and carrying steadily on. Comfortably back in lane, she was happy to speed along the highway.

She knew she was being overly cautious. There wasn't likely to be anyone else out on the road, but just in case. The price of gas generally stopped people doing long trips, but there was always someone with enough cash to burn.

…

The crew and party goers had a different, shorter route than the racers. And everyone had been on the road well before the Rent-a-cop had woken from his head injury, never mind his back up arriving.

Julian longed to be driving, regardless of whether he was with the racers or toddling along with the crew. There was a freedom about being behind the wheel. As much as he wished, he knew that he had to be keeping an eye out on what his racers were doing; the new security feature Heart had forced upon his race had already turned out to be invaluable and terribly amusing.

This first stage could go in many directions, and he needed to keep that box handy. Hence why Rasher was currently at the wheel.

Hopefully there wouldn't be too many hiccups, but with the inclusion of the boy in blue there could be some drama. Slink was expecting a lashing about pairing the contra-crime do-gooder with the Heart favourite.

On the point of Heart, he did hope someone had informed their racer of the rules; how he would hate to be forced to kill her so early on, rule violations didn't go over so well with the crowd. And she was such a fine specimen of the female form.

Those leather trousers Electra had been sporting at the party showed off one hell of a set of pins. What he wouldn't give to have those thighs wrapped around his face…

It really was a good thing that Rasher was driving. The read head was turning out to be quite the distraction. If he'd been anything more than a façade of a human male, he was willing to bet his race, that he'd be sporting one hell of a hard on. Between Electra's fine curves and the goddess that appeared, every time he closed his eyes, his blood was running hot.

He could have sworn that Doll had slapped his arse as she'd slipped by him into the crowd. And that smile she threw him, oh that smile. He knew she was going to be trouble.

Julian shut his eyes for a moment, as he tried to recall the goddess that smile had triggered.

_The silky touch of lips caressed his cheek in a lingering kiss, before she turned and walked away. Her hips held a stunning natural sway as she headed to her car. The turn up jeans hugged her legs, flaunting their beauty. Her long hair was braided, swinging, like a pendulum, across an ample behind. Hair the colour of fire._

_With a glance back, her face held a sad smile that painted itself into his memories._

Her features were a blur to Julian, apart from her smile. A smile filled with grief and pain, yet held just a hint of hope and beamed with love. The Goddess and Electra wore identical expressions, the ones where women did everything they could not to cry.

Why did Electra Frohne carry such emotions with her? And why were they triggered by him?

It was so frustrating. Slink wondered if Heart had stumbled upon a woman with a death wish, a woman who was willing to act a part in their play. A woman who would mess with the God of the Deadliest Stage. Were they creating images just to taunt him?

Had they erased memories of a previous incarnation? Did they find a doppelganger to use against him, to force him into doing their bidding? Their unimaginative plans?

His mind also wondered if there was something more sinister than Heart. May be another project from the bowels of the beast.

Julian Slink had no origin before Project Antigua, his project. There was nothing before there was everything.

There were not enough pieces to outline the puzzle, never mind to put it together. It didn't make any sense.

Was Electra a woman on a crusade? Did she exist to him before everything?

He supposed it was tremendously helpful that Rasher was a more than willing participant when it came to working over issues. The man was a masochist, and it had been a dreadfully long time since his toy box had been disturbed.

The floggers needed to come out to play. The sooner they hit Arizona the better.


	5. IV - The Hottest Piece of Ass

**IV – The Hottest Piece of Ass**

_Arizona_

_Stage 1, Mayhem Party_

Once he'd finished checking the preparations for the party over, Julian retired to his tent. Despite having worked with the majority of the crew for over a decade, Slink still liked to make sure everything was just so. While Rasher worked with the sound guys, prepping for the end of the race in the afternoon, Julian figured he would have time for a restful nap.

Sleep turned out to be a difficult commodity to come by, especially during the race weeks; what with near constantly being on the road and the all night parties.

He'd already issued penalties to four different racers, this new box of tricks was going to have him cranky by week two. Even clones needed their down time. Slink was actually wondering if some racers had even bothered to read the rule book, never mind learning what it contained.

He was eternally grateful that someone had seen fit to put together his private space first. Everything was exactly where he liked it to be. Placing his vintage hat on its stand, his clothes on the bedroom chair, Slink crawled into what only barely constituted a bed.

Sleep was a seductive Mistress, and he was quick to submit to her wicked ways.

…

_Heart Enterprises_

_Project Jezebel_

Flossy was content doing what she did best; cleaning up the mess. Only this time she was tying up her own loose ends.

Letting herself into the sealed room she took a deep breath. The Board had mandated that she investigate whether her secretary had taken the opportunity to tamper with any of the projects he had been accused of accessing and researching.

She'd started with the most important, the Soul Reclamator, and was ending in basement of the old offices, with Project Jezebel. Not that the Board had any knowledge of the project.

She hated this room, this project. So much disgust and bitterness clung to it, and the projects that had been directly birthed from it. But there was no time for animosity, Flossy had a job to do.

Little would the Board notice her work with the projects; each and every one of them would help her with her ultimate agenda. Flossy knew she wouldn't be around when everything came to a head, but it didn't matter.

No one fucked with her and got away with it.

She hated the Jezebel room, it made her truly angry; a wasted youth and a broken man usually lay interred. These were the hearts the cruelty had been built upon, these were the hearts that Heart was built on.

Turning the room over it was clear that Florence, the female patient, still had her brains intact. There was barely any trace of her having done anything other than wake up and walk out.

The room wasn't a mess, but it was clear that it had been used recently. It definitely showed that the woman who had been interred knew how to clean up after herself. The room had at least served some of its purpose.

Flossy noticed that the papers, which had been left to help Florence, were gone. As was the suitcase that had been hidden in plain sight. The only obvious traces of activity were the empty pod, and a used bottle of hair dye and stained towels, in the decontamination showers.

Sitting at the computer, Flossy checked to see whether there was an electronic paper trail. Oh, Florence was clever; she'd chosen her alias well, and had logged in with another to insert herself in the Blood Drive. Maybe not the route that Flossy would have taken, but it would work.

Flossy was proud of the woman who'd taken her existence by the horns, and thrown herself into taking back what was hers.

Sitting there, Flossy contemplated her own mortality for a moment. She would be dead well before she could see the outcomes of any of these decisions and actions. The Old Man wasn't the Old Man anymore; the psychotic wonder child was parading around in a flesh suit. It was surprising how few people had noticed an actual change.

She just had to stay alive long enough to play her final role. Flossy knew if the cracked bitch didn't get her first, then her genetics would betray her. She was racing against a clock.

Setting the room security to only admit Electra Frohne, Flossy grabbed the hand carved box of memories, which had been left behind. Better it be in her possession to pass on to Slink, than he be forced to seek it out himself.

The first visit to Project Jezebel was traumatic, she knew first hand. It would cause him less trauma to have the box when he was ready, than be forced to come face to face with history.

Flossy blew a kiss to the frozen man. She'd never truly met him, but her memories told her that she loved him, deeply.

"It's your fight, baby. But I'm in your corner.[i]" she whispered sealing the room off for good. When she died, the only people with knowledge of its contents would be those who had been interred by a man, hopefully, spending eternity in Hell.

…

_Arizona_

_Stage 1, Mayhem Party_

Upon waking Julian found himself rather perturbed. He'd not dreamt of the Goddess, but of a child. A child presented in a blue romper, and cradled in his arms. The child had a crown of fine hair, the colour of chocolate, and the most beautiful sea foam eyes.

Dream Julian was holding the boy, feeling emotions foreign to him in such situations. There was happiness, hope and an overwhelming, deep burning jealousy. Nothing like the usual disgust and shock that overcame him in his waking hours; awake, Julian, would question why any person would consider him an appropriate adult to be holding such a small item, a bundle which somehow held more value that the most precious of gemstones, yet did nothing but sleep, spew and shit.

The Goddess was hiding in the background of his dream state, present but unreachable. Her voice stumbled though the dream occasionally. Silky, dreamy and muffled.

_'I wish he was yours. He would be, if I'd run away when you'd asked. We could still runaway, once he's weaned?'_

Who was this woman? What did she mean to him?

Julian Slink wanted answers, but had no idea where to start asking. And surely Heart would dispose of him immediately, if they caught even a whiff of a rumour that he was any more deranged than they were comfortable with. They were already trying to take His race off him.

A quick check of the time showed that the session he had planned with Rasher would have to wait until the party was underway. No matter, there would be fewer potential interruptions later on.

He dressed and headed out to see what was going on in the Party. The first racers were already back, in fact many of them had returned, done their post stage maintenance and were getting down with the pack. He'd stepped out of his tent to the view of Clown Dick, balls deep in a blonde bunny.

Slink had to admire the man's stamina, he was definitely making his way through the whole selection of fuck bunnies on offer. Perhaps he spent his life fucking, or the adrenaline gave him a near constant hard on, or perhaps the Clown was hiding an addiction to little blue pills. Not that it mattered, Slink was glad to see one of his racers was enjoying the experience, however did it have to be right outside his tent?

A short meander around camp, with a pit stop for food and a chat with the stage leaders, he found Rasher finishing off spray painting the home and favourite playground of the fuck bunnies. Now and forever known as the 'Suck Bus'. Slink couldn't help but smile, Rasher did have some good ideas occasionally.

With a knowing look to Rasher, Slink mentioned a time and turned from him. Looking up just as Domi and Cliff arrived back into the safety of the Mayhem Party. It had clearly been a terrible stage for the pair, Domi could be seen turning her back to her husband after tossing the keys to their precious hybrid. She stalked off to the beer tent without a word in Cliff's direction, copping a feel at one of the bunnies on her way.

He mooched around a bit with enough curiosity to kill a whole clowder of cats. His crew appeared content chilling with the aptly named Road trash; the groupies here for the cars more than the race. Beers and grease were visible in abundance.

Wandering, Slink noted there were a couple of Vamps hanging around the finish line, otherwise most were still sleeping off the night before, or going for another round with the conquest of the night before. Being honest with himself, he preferred the lose women of the night over the plentiful bunnies; they were more selective over their prey, and were always clean. After the first time, he'd learned; going to the Heart labs for a check over was bad enough, having to have a full sexual health screening was downright shameful. Better safe, than bent over a gurney while some scientist took samples for experimentation.

Looking up, he took note of which racers had already come in, and who was left. There were a couple of surprises when it came to those who had polled higher up, but that could all be counted by how they directed themselves out of the city. There was some leeway when it came to getting from point A to point B. And some racers would have struggled to get out of the crush of the last shindig.

He noted that Electra polled at nineteenth of thirty; a comfortable middle position. She'd not done anything spectacular during the first stage, but then neither had anyone else, if you forgot to count Arthur Bailey's stunt, the Scholar's engine tampering, and the Gentleman's fiendish manner of topping off his engine. It was a good sign that he'd not had to shock her for misdemeanours or rule infringements, meant that she knew what she was doing.

After the way that she'd handled The Gentleman, the previous afternoon, it wasn't too much of a shock that she'd been happy playing it safe in the middle of the pack. That girl would have to be careful not to make too many enemies within the party walls.

There were three racers left to finish and only two safe positions. Rib Bone, The Gentleman and The Scholar, and finally Grace and Arthur.

A quick check of the racing stats showed that this was going to be an interesting stage finish. Grace's Camaro had been doing well, until the radiator sprung a leak and now the other racers were catching up. There was little care for stage winners, the Party only cared about the guts spilled at the finish line.

Electra was quite happy laid across the hood of her car. A beer was propped up against the windscreen beside her. She'd spent quite the enjoyable afternoon immersed in a book she'd found in the belongings of her hitchhiker. It turned out the deceased had been quite the fan of erotic literature; her well-worn collection had been adopted and stored in the Aston.

She was quite content breezing through Nabokov's Lolita, when her peace was disrupted by the tipsy slurs of Fat Elvis. "Why read about fucking? I'll show you a good time..."

"And what are you? A hunk of burning love[ii]?" she turned back to her book, "if it's all the same to you, I'll pass. A bunny walked by only a couple of minutes ago, if you hurry, she's probably still free."

"We were thinking perhaps a spit roast. Bet your cunt's all hot and wet." The Elvis impersonator was joined by a man only known as The Beard, pitching in his two cents.

"You're gonna need to find a different cunny to double team, sweetheart." She snapped the book shut, grabbed her beer and slid down the car bonnet to standing. "I like your imagination, but it requires me to want to suck that marshmallow dick of yours, Sideburns."

She left in search of food. The mouth-watering aroma was in the air, she just needed to find its source.

Rib Bone crossed the finish line and Julian Slink made his way to the stage. There were a couple of fights breaking out, here and there, but all would be solved when they heard the announcement. Then there was that buxom beauty, with hair the colour of blood, sitting on the edge of His stage; book in one hand, beer in the other, discarded plate of chips on her left. He managed to contain his anger, the cheek of that Broad; the stage was His domain. She did look rather serene, compared to the brawling mischief going on before her. Slink noted the title of the book she was reading, Lolita. Perhaps there was something within her that could be corrupted to his will.

A million and one ideas passed through his mind in a second before he stamped them all out. It would do no good getting all hot and bothered by future potential depravities. He had a performance to conduct. The Heart kit would be tested shortly, hopefully it lived up to it's promises.

Before his mind could wander any further along the track of wanton possibilities, he bounded up the stairs and on to the stage; just in time to get an alert to the pending climax of the days racing. He grabbed the mic, and pushed Electra's fine curves into the furthest corners of his mind.

"Our next team is less than half a mile away." The crowd turned to him, their brawling turning suddenly into raucous rabble. This was going to be one hell of a Day One Party, "So let's grab our drinks, our food... and the  _hottest piece of ass_  you can find. And we'll all gather, AT THE FINISH LINE!"

Slink didn't even bother to clamber down the stairs, he just jumped off the front of the stage, landing rather gracefully. He turned back, his shoulders to Electra's knees, and brazenly stole a chip from her discarded plate. A cheeky smirk upon his lips, oh this woman was turning his insides all sweet and gooey.

She had dared enter his domain, uninvited.

Hat off, and a bow, "Milady?"

Electra looked up to see Julian Slink bowed at the waist, arm across his middle, hat to the side. Well she had told him he needed more than sweet talk. This man probably just wanted to be in her knickers, and in that moment, she didn't care. He was close enough to the real deal, she could pretend.

"Well, since you asked so nicely." She pushed herself off from the stage, landing delicately on her heels. The plate was left abandoned as she looped her arm through the proffered one.

Together they followed the crowd towards the finish line. Electra couldn't help but feel appreciative of the venomous looks thrown her way; if anyone wanted to take her down, they had better fight a damn sight harder.

Once The Gentleman had crossed the line, Slink departed from her side with a tip of his hat. He headed straight for Rasher, who was holding the control box, standing in the middle of the road as the Camaro came hurtling around the corner. Grace and Arthur making frantic attempts at staying alive.

Julian watched the partnership desperately fuck.

He was in two minds as to whether he hoped that they would succeed in shorting out their brain bombs. On one hand, Grace was the Heart Princess, their favourite, and he'd been told to do everything in his power to keep her in check and make sure that she followed the rules to the letter. She was also riding with that dashing detective; ooh, Slinky wouldn't mind a piece of him later.

But then again, they were last, and rules must be obeyed.

He primed the switch, and turned the pulse charges up to near enough full. Not high enough to explode, but enough to play havoc with their attempts.

As the car neared the line, he flicked the switch.

It didn't work.

Slink flicked the switch multiple times, to no avail. The Camaro and it's passengers skidded to a halt right before his feet. With a lean forward, he tapped on the window and shook his head. He was a little miffed that there was no exploding heads at the end of the first stage. But that could easily be remedied. He turned to find The Scholar as Grace and Arthur disembarked from each other and the car to chants of 'Fucking Cop'.

It seemed that the boy had taken the advice given to him rather seriously. This eclectic band of miscreants enjoyed a show, and if it wasn't blood, porn would do. Both would be better.

Tomorrow, there would be a control box that didn't short out. And pulse charges that were stronger than adrenaline.

...

Electra moved away from the crowd and headed back to the beer tent, she figured that if she at least looked interested then she wouldn't find herself as an outsider to the troupe. Being on the outside could be troublesome when the pack mentality found its way into play. There would come a point when they worked together against each other; especially as their numbers got cut. Better to have some protections than none at all.

She had stowed her book in the glove box of her car as she polished off her second beer. The tent had gotten far too crowded and one of the crew had suggested that she join them for a bit. They were rather interested in the modifications she'd made to the Aston. The chance to talk to people had been too good of an opportunity to pass up, especially as a number of bunnies were shooting glares across the tent.

It wasn't her fault that they didn't fit in with the tastes of the God of the Stage. Julian Slink had always been a rather peculiar man, even before Heart.

A man will like what he likes, and there was no changing that. Eventually the jail bait in the tutus and lingerie would learn that.

"I hear you made quite the impression upon our master of ceremonies." The Gentleman stepped out of the shadows.

She shrugged her shoulders, "Really? I just didn't fancy crossing the man. You know, he controls the bombs in our necks, don't really want to spend most of tomorrow being electrocuted."

"I think that's part of the thrill with you. You like power." He stepped closer, offering her a light for the cigarette she'd pulled from the box tucked in her bra. "I'm a powerful man too. More powerful than that charlatan, Slink, or whatever he calls himself."

"And I think you're wrong!" Electra continued on her way back to the party, "thank you for the light, by the way."

There was something shifty going on with that man, she want to be civil with him, couldn't stand being around him. However needs must. That something shifty might turn out to be something more than just him being weird. At no point did she disbelieve that the man was powerful, he probably had circles of influence far greater than could be imagined; which scared her a little. Electra's circle existed of herself, and a man who had yet to wake.

...

_Arizona_

_Slink's Private Quarters_

Once the box had been dropped off with The Scholar, a little rule bending had been negotiated for the help, Slink had returned to his private quarters. Happy to find that Rasher had set up near enough everything.

A selection of floggers, of various materials, an the mini martinet had been laid across the closed lid of the toy box. All lying there quite peacefully, waiting to be held, be used, abused. Each lay in a uniform row, with their matching African black wood handles pointed towards him.

Rasher himself was finishing the process of attaching himself to the St Andrew's cross, that was always carried along, whether it was likely to be used or not. He'd strapped himself face towards the cross, buck naked, his feet spread and his wrists cuffed to a single point above his head. Giving Julian a whole expanse of flesh to play with.

His toys had been caged away for far too long, it had been too long since such a session had occurred. Slink knew he would need to warm Rasher up, the body needed to be able to continue with it's bidding once they were through.

"Are you aware of your safe words?" Rasher nodded in response.

"Have they changed since our last session?" A shake of the head this time.

"You can speak." Occasionally Slink pondered about the level of masochist Rasher really was. Did the man have a high pain threshold, or was it all just some sort of show, where the directions were handed down from some office executive?

Julian picked up the suede flogger, brushing the lengths of material against his cheek. Soft and forgiving. Not what he had in mind at all.

Caressing the cool leather one next, he decided that it would be the place to start. There would be a sting in it's bite, but not too much. He dare not go in all guns blazing.

Slink held its handle, loosely but carefully. Turning his wrist over, he felt his tool become nought but an extension of himself. Perhaps he would enjoy the entertainment of the evening after all, perhaps it would be more than a stress reliever.

"To business." He announced, "do you have any injuries, or medical conditions, which have occurred since last time? That I need to be aware of?"

Rasher was clear in his response, "nothing."

"Any areas you want me to stay clear of?"

"No." A voice in the back of Julian's head wanted to question the man's sanity, but he supposed that Rasher would do that himself once they were through.

Everything was fair game so they began.

"I want you to count." Slink spoke as he landed the first brushing blow. His first strokes were light, warming up the skin to take the ever increasing pressure.

"One, two." Rasher counted.

Ever so slowly he increased the force behind his blows, occasionally dropping in a harsh snap of his wrist, earning him a hiss from the body he was bruising. Rasher's counting was slowly becoming husky, he was thoroughly enjoying the attention.

"Forty-four, forty-five."

Putting down the flogger, Julian Slink cracked and stretched his fingers before picking up the mini martinet. "We still good?"

"Yes." Rasher breathed the word, more than said it.

"If you come, you clean it up." Ooh, the power rush of orgasm denial could almost make Slink feel tingly.

Rasher nodded his response.

Two quick cracks to the butt cheeks had the man counting again, in a rather high pitched squeak. Much to Julian's satisfaction.

Aiming slightly higher with every stroke, Slink alternated his lashes from left to right, making his way from Rasher's butt, up to mid chest.

It was here that Julian's mind slipped into wondering what it would be like to have the body of one particular racer upon the cross. How delicious she would look when he drew blood, her grazes would match those luscious locks of hers.

The calm that had been settling about him was gone in an instant.

"You can stop counting. We're done." Slink let down Rasher's hands before turning to clean the toys and put them away.

It didn't take long, by which time Rasher had stretched his joints and muscles.

"Is there anything you need from me?" As much as Slink used the man, he at least paid attention to after care should it be required of him.

Rasher's head shook, "we didn't really get very far." He dressed and left Slink to his musings.

When Julian Slink makes his mind up, very little can change it. He left his tent with a new purpose, he'd let the little boy in blue know just  _who_  was in charge, before finding this Electra Frohne. Maybe getting her into his system, would get her out. At this point in time, anything was worth a try.

* * *

[i] Jack Crawford, to his wife. Hannibal, Season 1, Episode 5.

[ii] Elvis Presley, Burning Love 1973


	6. V - Pixie, Do You Swallow?

**V – Pixie, do you swallow?**

  


_Arizona 1999,_

_Mayhem Party_

Electra was closing the trunk of her car when she found herself pushed up against it. A hand on the back of her neck, pressing her down, bending her over. A foot kicking her legs apart. The presence of a man stepping up, pressing himself onto her.

She could feel his breath on the side of her neck as he leaned in. The shadows were too deep for a reflection in the rear window.

Her adrenaline spiked.

The race had barely started, yet she’d riled up enough people for someone to want to come after her. For someone to want to attack her, make her vulnerable.

“You even smell divine!”

It was a statement of awe and amusement. The voice was unforgettable; near instantaneously heat flooded through her veins and pooled around her quim.

“You’ve been quite the distraction.” He held her down with his body, giving his hands the ability to roam.

She wanted to speak, but her voice was nowhere to be found. She wanted to tell him, her body was his, at this moment in time she would lay herself down. She’d be his cause for inattention, be his plaything, his fool.

This wasn’t the man she loved. This was a flesh reproduction.

A driven man. A man perplexed.

Behind her was a man feral with need, desperate for release.

His hands stayed north of her panty line as he breathed her in.

“Who are you? Why are you in my race?”

He was glad she’d pinned her hair up, placing kisses on the sensitive flesh of her neck, he gripped her curves tightly as he pressed his hips into hers.

Electra’s heart sped faster, he could feel it beneath his lips. Her breathing shortened and her hips impulsively pushed back into him.

Slink realised that Electra was in no state to answer his questions. He pulled back, only far enough to spin her round, lift her up and sit her on the trunk of her car. He paused, looking at her, awaiting a response.

Reaching for him, she placed her hands on his face, her thumbs caressing his cheeks. “I’m Electra Frohne, and I’m here to win. Unless you know otherwise.”

She refused to let him ask any more questions, despite the shadows, they were exposed. Pulling him into her, she kissed him with everything she had. Electra had no idea whether this clone had any chance of reclaiming the memories of the human they once were, but it had been a long lonely fight, and she was willing to risk everything for a one time lover.

Julian followed her lead, taking from her every ounce of ardour she was giving. One of his hands found itself attached to her breast, the fingers of his left threaded into her hair.

This woman was intoxicating. So much for getting her out of his system.

Slink broke their kiss, a debauched smirk upon his face.

His left hand left her curls, leisurely snaking its way across her face and down her body. Lingering at her hip while his right hand caught up.

He looked at her, really looked. Before him was a stunning young woman, a woman who clearly knew what she wanted.

Keeping his eyes locked with hers, Slink spread Electra’s knees further. The smirk upon his face refused to budge as he lowered himself to his knees, bringing his face level with her Cyprian fountain.

A soft push on her stomach had Electra laying back, she lifted her hips allowing Slink to remove her underwear, and he was pleasantly surprised with what he found. It was clear that blood red was not her natural colour, he’d been hoping to find the truth beneath; she was smooth and bare, and glistening with temptation.

If she smelled divine on top, Electra was pure heaven below. Julian Slink would swear he had discovered Eden, and this Eve was naught but a temptress. He couldn’t help but swipe his tongue from bottom to top for a taste.

A soft but deep moan left Electra.

Slink had to hear it again.

This time swirling languid circles around her pearl. There was a hint of a squeak to her noises, and Slink couldn’t help but smile.

Oh, this woman was dangerous, but she was gorgeous. The thought of spending days beneath her passed across his conscious, and he didn’t mind.

He could feel her release building in the muscles beneath his hands, his fingers were splayed across her inner thighs, and with every lick, every circle, every cool breath blown smoothly across her nub, Electra trembled.

Slinky liked those trembles.

He found his hat knocked to the floor, tumbling close to his knees. Slink would have to be careful not to stand on the precious thing when he finally stood. Electra had one set of fingers wrapped tightly in his hair, holding him to her. She held other wrist was between her lips, muffling her moans.

Just as the sensations were becoming too much, just as she was reaching the fine line between pleasure and irritation, Electra felt Slink gently suck her pearl into his mouth, only to nip sharply with his teeth.

The shock was quick and Electra tumbled from the high she’d been climbing too. Her muscles tensed and trembled, her thighs trying to snap closed, only to find themselves pushed open by the strong arms of the Master of Mayhem.

He continued to gently serenade her with his tongue. He eased her along as she rode out the shivers that ran through her.

It was like and electric current, running through her. When she’d awoken, Electra had never imagined that she’d ever feel such bliss again.

When it was over, her arm fell limp across her breast, her breathing erratic.

Slink raised himself from his knees, leant his body across hers and pulled her lips into a searing kiss.

. . .

_Blood Drive, Stage 2_

_Aston Martin, E Frohne_

Electra wasn’t quite sure what she should be feeling. She’d been on the road a good couple of hours, one of the first out of the starting block with no intentions of falling behind.

When she’d been awoken by the first rays of dawn, all she had wanted to do was be on the road. She needed to be away, away from the racers, away from the party, away from Him.

He was still the God she remembered, yet she felt dirty, used, cast aside.

The orgasm he’d graced her with in the early hours of the morning was superb, there were no words she could find to fault his technique or the sensations she’d felt. But he’d left her, prone across the trunk of the Aston. Left her sated and alone.

One searing kiss, two hands grasping at her, and three steps to be invisible in the shadows.

She knew that he didn’t remember her, couldn’t know just what he meant to her. But it still hurt to be left so dramatically.

She’d been in no mood for casual conversation when the tank needed topping up. Her bra was lying on the back seat, her breasts supported only by the shirt she had tied beneath them. They’d helped wonderfully when distracting those who’d proved to be fuel, she could only hope that the ladies were also providing ample distraction for the self professed God of the Stage.

Electra wanted to feel loved, or at least cared for. Perhaps she’d find a play thing at the next rest stop. She was no stranger to passionate affairs, she’d never been that silly girl who thought she’d be loved by one man and one man only. Even in their years before William had caught them, she’d shared her body with Julian and whoever else was to be their lovers.

They’d been ahead of their time, been ahead of ‘free love’, had revelled in their sexual liberation.

She missed that. Missed him.

Electra shook her head, it would do her no good to be caught up in dreams of a life time past. Slink was not the man she had once known; she would do well to remember that. His face may be there, but the man was not.

Before her lay a race that needed winning, and a stone cold cup of revenge. If it all went to plan, her actions would cut deeper than the brass knife she’d sunk into the ire soaked flesh.

Heart will bleed.

. . .

_Heart Enterprises,_

_Lobby_

Julian Slink had not had time, nor the will, to analyse the chaos going on in his mind. His encounter with Electra had been intense and suffocating; only fuelling his need for her further. God she was like a mix of Red and Ice, euphoric and addictive.

The powerful need to keep her, protect her, had scared him, and he’d walked away. He’d left her, lying there, sated but yet starved.

The little rest he’d managed to garner had been haunted by the Goddess locked in his head. The red head with curves for miles had tumbled through his dreams, tangled in silken sheets, pinned beneath him. Rode her way into his consciousness, his hands gripped to her hips, his cherry-splitter sunken balls deep into the delta of Venus, her head thrown back in ecstasy.

As much as he had tried to, Slink had been unable to focus on her face; he couldn’t reach far enough to grasp on to those features and pull them to the forefront of his dream.

And now he was sitting with a ginger buffoon, waiting for the Heart Executives to get around to the meeting they’d requested he attend. The fool was twittering on about a job interview, that someone had screwed up real bad, that they were going to replace them, perhaps with him.

As much as he tried not to sound interested, Slink had tried to find out what position the man was interviewing for. Yet the fool kept twittering, avoiding the question.

The Executives had been yammering on. The Race wasn’t bloody enough. Wasn’t wild, too tame. Wasn’t what they wanted. Not this year, anyway. Not last year either. There was something missing, is something missing. Is the material getting dry? Overused?

There was always something missing for them; had been since the very beginning. Since they discovered his love affair with one of the stage hands; the aquamarine beauty.

He’d been running this race for just over twenty-five years, and every year there had been complaints. But generally no one gave a flying fuck. The praise and ratings were enough for the whinging bitches, and the clap riddled cock suckers to be ignored.

Maybe not this time.

There had been a change on the Board. A complete overhaul. Out with the pencil dicks and in with the metrosexuals and the Jamie Hunts.

Were they going to try and replace him? Replace the God of the Stage?

Did they not think him good enough for his own race? They clearly didn’t understand the malice and determination that went into making sure that his racers were ‘just so’. Didn’t appreciate the art of turning worlds upside down, forcing families apart, dropping the subtlest of hints. Julian Slink was more than Master of Mayhem, he is an artist. A creator of the filthiest entertainment on the planet.

Slink waited agitated. He wasn’t good at being patient, especially when someone else was in charge of his race. He’d left the control box in the hands of Rasher; he didn’t trust the man. He was a Heart lackey after all, so pussy whipped it was hard to tell whether he’d ever truly been a man.

. . .

_Blood Drive, Stage 2_

_Pixie Swallow_

There were no groupies and no stage. The suck bus was missing and the Master of Ceremonies was suspiciously missing.

Had someone at Heart Enterprises figured out that she was an imposter. Had they called him in to tell him? Were they setting up her demise? Had they changed her coordinates? Was this the end of her race?

Electra shook off the panic before it set in. She grabbed a room at the motel before striding into the dinner. Nothing looked particularly appetising, she ordered a plate of chips and coffee. It was peculiar that there was a meat supplier this far into the desert, there was little water around here and she didn’t want to know what they might use as a substitute.

The other racers began appearing and she decided it was time to make herself scarce. She was really looking forward to a good nights sleep and getting involved with the rabble, wasn’t exactly the tea she was hoping for a cup of.

With a smile to the waitress, she settled her bill and headed to her room. Hopefully she’d be up before the crack of dawn and be prepared once the days co-ordinates were set.

There had been a fearsome atmosphere in the diner and the majority of the mayhem party had yet to arrive; Electra found it terribly unsettling. The confusion and hurt she was feeling, over the actions of the Master of Mayhem would have to wait, it wasn’t like there was anything she could do about it. For the time being Electra was stuck with mulling things over and working herself up into a fit of tears; not an outcome she liked the look of.

Instead she collected a suitcase and a few weapons from the car and began the trek to the room she had rented for the evening. A semi-comfortable bed and a lukewarm shower sounded like heaven, especially compared to what she had access to on the road. Electra was sure she’d manage a better night’s sleep on an old lumpy mattress than she ever could in her car.

Only she found herself stopped, at the foot of the stairs, by Tall, Dark and Handsome. He was the stereotypical stranger of some gypsy fortune, and she had his undivided attention.

“Travelling alone are we?” His eyes roamed her figure, clearly examining the merchandise, deciding whether he wish to partake.

“Perhaps,” she flirtatiously replied; any thoughts of Julian Slink left her mind when she took a moment to take in her fellow traveller.

“Well then, perhaps you’d be willing to meet me for a bite to eat? Once you’re settled, of course.” His eyes continued to skirt along her curves, almost committing her to memory. He was definitely gathering together a elaborate image, in case his date was with Mrs Palm and her five darling daughters.

“I’m afraid I’ve already eaten.” She frowned, as she moved to pass him. Making it up one step before he spoke again.

“Would there be any chance of meeting you later?”

“Depends, will you divulge your name?”

The stranger looked around, taking in his surroundings before responding. “The name is Martin. It’s delightful to meet you...”

“Pixie,” her reply was sharp but playful and ‘Martin’ smiled. “Room 104, after ten, if you’re interested.” With a wink, she turned and continued up to her room. Maybe there would be some fun to be had with the handsome stranger, that’s if he didn’t turn out to be a complete pussy. She was in need of a good rodgering, and he looked like just the kind of man who could help a woman out.

“Depends, Pixie. Do you swallow?” He called after her, his eagerness betrayed in his voice.

. . .

_Heart Enterprises,_

_Lobby_

Time seemed to tick by all too slowly and fly by all at once.

 

Eventually the ginger returned, beaming with pride that he had a better job than his brother. That he should phone his mother and tell her the good news.

Julian couldn’t help it. He swung for the man.

Taking him down with minimal effort, he proceeded to beat the brains out of the man with nought but his briefcase.

Not his finest moment, Slink would admit, but there was something about the release of tension.

Following the AKI unit to the boardroom, he felt calmer, more in control. Like he could rule the world if he chose to do so.

“Won’t the Old Man be joining us?”

“You are not worthy of his attention.”

Something had changed, and changed significantly. If Julian Slink was the driving force of the Blood Drive, the Old Man was the worlds biggest fan. Never had he missed a meeting with Slink before. But then, never before had he called Julian to the offices mid race; there’d been the occasional telephone call, but nothing that dragged him away from keeping the racers in line.

The tables had turned and Julian wasn’t happy at where his chips had been placed.

. . .

_Pixie Swallow_

_Room 104_

Electra had been rather enthusiastically riding ‘Martin’ when the sounds of battle reached their ears. At first she’d ignored it, realising she was pretty much safe up in her room. It wasn’t like there weren’t weapons at hand.

She was well and truly impaled upon his dick, close to her peak, when his hands had grabbed her hips. Forcing her to come to a halt.

His fear was evident at how quickly his meat sword waned inside her. The pillar of joy was swift to become a broken arrow.

‘Martin’ threw her to the side, swiftly dressing and leaving the room, probably running from the fray in the parking lot.

She slammed the door behind him, locking it, before turning to the shower. The man had been a treat, while he’d been around, but now she was left horny and in need of relief. The shower and her sweet fingers would have to suffice.

Electra was not impressed.

. . .

_Heart Enterprises_

_Admin Dept._

Flossy had noted that Julian Slink had been called before the board, she’d also taken note of why. That Tart, who’d taken over, had no idea just who she was messing with. Amateur swordsman, connoisseur of fine wine, professional killer. Just three wonderful descriptions of the fine specimen that was Julian Slink.

She kept a track of his whereabouts as he made his way through the building, having just impeccable timing to bump into him, just beyond the sight of prying eyes.

“Mr Slink?” She smiled to his back.

His head tilted ever so slightly. “I would know that voice anywhere.” He turned and smiled graciously towards her. “And how might I be of assistance to such a fine lady, such as yourself?”

A light laugh left her, “still a charmer I see. Only a minor one, fancy stopping in Meadeville?”

“Anything for you, my dear.” With a chaste kiss to the back of her hand, he left.

Flossy saw recognition flash across his eyes, through the reflection in the glass. He paused for barely a moment, noticing a photograph of William Heart and his wife, Florence.

She could only hope that the memories appeared before much more damage was done. The Company was currently destroying it’s foundations.


	7. VI - Electrostimulation

**VI – Electrostimulation**

_Slink’s Tent_

_Finish Line, Utah_

          Julian awoke to a fresh new hell; part of the deal he submitted to, in order to keep his job, had been to accept the help and advice of those from Head Office. His race was now to be dictated by the viewers, no longer would it be his masterpiece. Truth be told, Julian was royally pissed off.

          Rasher had already been by, setting up a television and telephone connection in the reception area. Everything was therefore ready for the conference call, to which Slink’s attendance was mandatory. Although from the chaos that had reigned in Pixie, Slink didn’t think there’d be anything much of interest to watch on today’s stage. Did Head Office not realise that Julian Slink, Master of Ceremonies, Collector of rare obscurities and Purveyor of Sexual Oddities, was the only one who could control the Mayhem?

          The tattooed vagabond seemed all too happy about the control panel being placed in his charge. Rasher did always enjoy a good power trip. Julian could only wonder how the contestants would fare throughout the coming stage. It was known that most had been on the road through the night, the last should be setting off momentarily.

          Despite being fully aware that he would not be coming into contact with people until at least mid-day, Julian was careful to select an outfit that suited him and proceeded to dress with the utmost care. Whatever was on offer for breakfast would already be laid out on his coffee table, and he wished to partake in peace. Preferably before his brain threatened to turn itself into meaningless mush.

          He was pleased to see that Rasher had already tuned the tv to the race. A beautiful widescreen that gave a stunning picture of just what was happening. There was very little of interest happening, most of the racers were too tired to be doing much else other than driving. Fat Elvis and a couple of others had fallen victim to the goings on at the motel, but not so many that it would affect the race, there were still plenty of cars in the running.

 

          Sipping at the cup of fruit tea, Julian pondered over his most recent revelation. It seemed Flossy, his pretty little thing in the admin office, was more than she appeared. Slink found he couldn’t help but wonder about her; he’d seen her about the offices since he’d first appeared, she’d aged in double time, it was clear that Flossy was not her first incarnation.

          When he noticed it, things stumbled into place. Yesterday as he had been leaving, he’d seen the photograph on the wall. A photo often walked past and ignored. There in black and white was the company founder William Heart II and beside him a beautiful young woman. His wife.

Flossy was a clone, a clone of Florence Heart.

          What on earth had possessed their founder to clone his wife?

Had it been love which had convinced him to keep her around? Or at least try to.

Blood was the foundation of Heart Enterprises, was Florence the reason?

. . .

_Blood Drive_

_Stage 3, Utah_

          Electra found herself riding in the terminal position, and whoever had possession of the pulse charge controller was making her feel it. There was a constant buzz of electricity running through her veins; she was well aware of her precarious position, the impending doom and she wanton.

          Having slept through the majority of the previous evening’s violence, Electra had discovered her car mercifully untouched and a day’s supply of fuel. The motel and diner at Pixie Swallow was abandoned, and would soon be a feeding ground for whatever vultures were left in the Arizona desert. Despite finding herself racing for her life, she was glad of the spare limbs now piled onto the backseat of the Aston.

          The stage had been long and dusty with very little to mark the landscape and nothing but a slightly stronger pulse every twenty miles or so, reminding her of her imminent downfall. Electra was relying heavily on the GPS system she’d been forced to install in the car; there was a lot of ground to cover before she caught up with any of the other vehicles, but barely enough time to do it in.

          Sure from the looks of it Grace and Arthur had broken down just before the turnoff for Steel City.  The pair would probably have to venture into the city to make up the ground they were losing, but it didn’t seem worth the risk to follow them. If she stuck to the alotted path, she might barely make it to the finish line before them, if they didn’t get themselves stuck. Anyone who’d been sent into Steel City, since the scar opened hadn’t been seen again.

          There was a derelict building coming up on her left, Electra was still a good fifteen miles away from the Steel City fork. The building looked familiar, and as she came closer, an image fluttered into her memory.

          _A stunning villa was coming into view, William had been driving all afternoon to get them so far out from Salt Lake City. There was a party being held in the gorgeous venue just up ahead._

_It seemed like a fantastic idea to hold property so far from neighbours who complained at the slightest hint of fun. She did wonder why her husband had moved them into such a sleepy part of New York State._

_“I have a business meeting here, so I expect you to be on your best behaviour.” William has commanded as he handed his car keys to the valet. The look in his eyes was vicious, the man knew how to threaten her without saying a word._

          Electra shook the memory from her head, the business meeting turned out to be nothing more than her husband pimping her out so a contract would be signed. Not her proudest moment, but it had given her a little clarity on what her marriage would entail. The party hadn’t been long after their wedding, and from that point on Electra had vowed that she would not be just the ‘little lady’ on William’s arm. If she had to live with this man, she would at least find a way to enjoy it.

          She stopped the Aston and pulled out a map, only to be presented with another thrilling buzz.

          “Oh, William, if you only knew.” She barely murmured.

          There was a side road, just beyond the grounds of the villa. It would take her off course, but she’d meet up with the other racers just before the finish line. Leaving the map on the seat, she put the car in gear and pulled away. She was going to catch up. There was a smirk on her lips as she took the exit. The detour was going to hurt, but it would hurt so good.

. . .

_Slink’s Tent_

_Notes Call, Hour 4_

          He was beyond pissed off at the Heart knob jockeys. Their notes made no sense, it wasn’t like Slink could control the race once a stage was in play, he could punish those who broke the rules, but beyond that, his manipulations were behind the scenes.

          What happened in Steel City was entirely beyond his control. He couldn’t change that the creatures of the city were called ‘Glimmers’ it was local slang, and messing with the racers was tantamount to fixing the race. Julian might consider himself a sadistic bastard, but he at least played relatively fair.

          The meeting was about to end when the wholly unexpected happened. Rasher was in control of the pulse charges and had incidentally created a thing of beauty. The scene playing out on the screen before him was wild and untamed; Slink wanted to see more of it.

          “What is she doing?” came one voice.

          “Is she really going to… fuck yes.” Another spoke on the phone.

          Goodness knows how she’d done it, but Electra was now near enough at the front of the pack, and she’d pulled over. Driver's seat pushed back, internal cameras angled and was that her panties hanging from the rearview mirror?

          The phone sat limply on Julian’s shoulder. Like everyone, he was busy watching.

          Electa had the buttons of her shirt open, she’d gone without a bra, and even with the internal camera’s shit resolution, it was possible to see they were hard as rocks. Her skirt was hitched up around her waist, and she had her feet propped up on the dash to enable such a delightful angle.

          Julian wanted to be able to control the Aston’s internal camera system, he wanted the ability to zoom. He needed the ability to take charge and give the viewers a little more than webcam porn.

          “We really need better sound on these internal camera systems!” Graham causally mentioned as anyone viewing the moment could see her lips moving, chest heaving, but not a sound of her moans reached their ears.

          Julian had stopped listening, he was captivated by the woman on the screen. Her lips were moving, forming words he was trying to make out as she threw her head back in ecstasy. The fingers of one hand were thrust deep into her pussy, while that one the other rubbed her clitoris vigorously.

          Her body tensed, and her lips parted forming one perfect word; Julian.

          He dropped the phone. Slink wondered whether any of the others had caught the name that crossed her lips.

. . .

_Stage 3_

_Mayhem Party_

          Slink had spent the beginning of the Mayhem Party searching for her. Electra enjoyed his attention but had no intention of letting him find her. Not yet. He tried desperately not to appear too eager in his search.

          From the way his eyes were raking over each and every group of people, she assumed he’d had a front row seat to her show.

          He wandered around, occasionally taking a lick of the battery in his hand. It seemed his frustration was wearing him thin.

          She’d taken a nap while his telephone conference had been ongoing, Electra was quite happy to wander around for the majority of the evening. She watched as the tension in his body periodically increased.

          Slinky was horny, and that battery wasn’t going to last forever.

 

          She took care to hide her soaked panties in the throne that had been erected by the finish line. After the events of the first party, she was confident that Slink would be able to identify her scent upon them. That was if no one moved them from his royal seat first.

          Making her way through the crowds, Electra managed to brush passed her target. His precious battery landed in her possession. While there was little intention of torturing the man with his needs, Electra couldn’t help but want to wind him up; memories of kinky kisses and fervent fucking fluttered across her mind.

It was complete curiosity which led her to his tent. Everyone was heading towards the finish line, there were only two cars left to finish; Clowndick and Grace and Arthur. Gut feeling told her it would be Clowndick who ended up with his brains splattered across the dashboard; there was just something hinky about how the Heart Employees kept a close eye on the brunette.

          The God of the Stage had a lavishly decorated tent, so beautifully put together that it would take a whole team to get him on the road come the morning.

          As she wandered through his reception area, Electra noticed the big screen across from the worn leather sofa. Running her fingers along the back, fantasies of being bent over it flashed through her mind. It seemed Julian Slink had plenty of surfaces on which to pound a young woman into submission.

          A shiver ran up her spine, she did miss his domineering side. Electra could only hope they’d recreated every inch of him perfectly when they’d cloned him.

That man had always been able to work miracles with his dick.

Electra was busy running through dreams of being strapped to the dentist’s chair, which sat casually in the corner of the next room, being fucked to within an inch of her life, when a rush of electricity ran through her body.

The race was over, and Slink had his little box of magic back in his possession. He was making her pay for her teasing.

 

_Stage 3,_

_Finish Line_

          Julian struggled to get comfortable in his seat of honour. The first glass of red had disappeared rather quickly, to be replenished without question from one of the many who served Heart.

          Reaching behind him, Julian discovered he was sitting on a fascinating pair of panties. Blood red, very lacy and they’d spent the afternoon swinging from the rearview mirror of a stunning Aston Martin.

          Oh, that Minx. She was going to pay.

          Running his fingers over them, he discovered they were still wet. That blasted woman must have put them back on after the race.

          What had that woman been up to? Her scent was sharp, Julian didn’t need to bring them to his nose to note the floral aroma was that which he had tasted a previous evening.

          Tucking the lace into his pocket, he reached for the battery he’d stashed.

          It wasn’t there, it was missing. Where had it gone?

          Julian searched all of his pockets, trying his best not to appear desperate. It wouldn’t look good for the Master of Ceremonies to lose his cool in front of his faithful audience.

          Taking a deep breath, he settled for licking the fingers which had recently found themselves coated in the taste of Electra.

          Rasher handed over the control box. As tempting as it was to start sending shocks to Electra Frohne, he needed to be ready to blow up the losers before they crossed the line. The line was the only fucking loophole in the whole race, pass it, and a racer was safe. Injuries could occur, but once inside the party, people were safe from death.

          Clowndick appeared in the darkness, pulling up to take in the sights and offerings of a bunny just before the line. Not the best moment for him to be thinking with his penis; Slink had tried to warn him, but the red Camero came out of nowhere and took the line before the clown had time to process what was happening.

          Brains splattered, the crowd cheered, Julian finished his second glass and triggered a low voltage to emit towards the outrageous bombshell who was fuck knows where. If he was horny, then so could she be.

          The plan was to head back to his tent and find some way to calm down or struggle to find a release. Slink hated the people of Heart Enterprises, sure they’d given him the opportunity for eternal life, but the cost was unimaginable. They’d turned him into a eunuch.

          Perhaps he could team up with Flossy and together they could plot their revenge. It wasn’t as if Heart had been kind when they’d cloned her.


	8. VII - Quite the Temptress

**VII – Quite the temptress**

Julian was meandering through the crowds, back to his tent. He no longer cared whether the tempestuous redhead would be found that evening; he was back in charge of the control panel, he could give her hell in the morning. Or through the night as it were. The race log, on the box, provided him with the settings that Rasher had been using; Slink, feeling annoyed, set Electra's pulse charge to a notch below that which had been pulsing through her system as she'd orgasmed beautifully in her car during the afternoon.

He figured, that provided she kept racing the way she had proved she could, there would be plenty opportunities for him to meet with Electra as the race continued.

Slink had almost been on the home straight when his arm was caught by The Woman. This Woman, who deserved no name, had given herself the title of "Slinky's Wifey", and while she didn't work for Heart Enterprises, the office had found it hilarious, and he was forced to put up with her race after race. The idiots in the office even required him to spend time with her outside of events. Slink hated that he was shipped off to spend time with The Woman in his downtime between the Blood Drive and his promotional tours with the Primo.

In all honesty, Slink had tried to find her attractive, but no matter how provocatively she dressed, all he could see was the fucking colossal doll's head she wore to events. It wasn't even a pretty dolly.

Graciously he completed a loop of the party with her on his arm, dropping her back at her own tent. The Woman might be seen as his wife, but Slink refused to share his private space with the harlot.

. . .

_Slink's Tent_

Unsure of how Julian would react to finding her in his personal sanctuary, Electra had tried to leave. As soon as she'd felt the first tingle of electricity, she'd moved to place the stolen battery on the coffee table. However, it proved to be a challenge she could not complete.

The God of the Stage was a master at controlling the pulse charges, something his prodigy sorrowfully lacked.

As the flutters of electricity took hold, her body collapsed upon the first surface to hand.

She'd fallen head first over the back of the sofa, her hips resting on the top of the cushions as her front flopped, undignified, to the seats. Her legs barely had the strength to stay upright, her bottom in the air.

The evening breeze had a nasty chill to it, as it fluttered through the tent, providing additional sensations that, while beautifully stimulating, were more than unwelcome.

The bastard knew what he was doing. Electra's body tensed continually, the knot in her pelvis tying itself tighter, winding her up. She'd been wet already, Julian was only adding fuel to the fire.

Her tongue had licked the battery to no avail, hoping that the new shock might just kick-start her body into the blissful tumble she craved.

Desperate, subconsciously wriggling for friction, was how Julian found her.

"My, my, what do I have here?"

His rhetorical question was met with whimpers and moans. It was clear to see that Electra was trying to get some of her faculties back to enable her to speak with him, plead with him, snap at him. She needed a release, and in her current position, the only person who could give it to her, stood staring at her perfectly formed arse.

"You put on quite the show this afternoon? All for me perhaps?"

He strolled around the edge of the sofa, dropping his posterior on the coffee table.

"Everyone enjoyed it Miss Frohne." He whispered conspiratorially, stealing the battery from her grasp. A swift lick told him it was now useless.

Placing his right hand under her chin, he lifted her head. Electra found herself barely supported by her forearms, upon the worn cushions.

"You've been a naughty girl, Miss Frohne." He commented, stroking her hair with his left hand, moving to cup her cheek. "Quite the temptress. First with your taut nipples and dripping pussy, then leaving your panties for me to find. Tut, tut. What am I to do with you?"

Her body was in need of more. A cock would suffice, and at that moment, she had very little care as to whose. She was teetering on the precipice of oblivion, Electra needed to fall.

Julian Slink could feel the thrum of electricity running through her, his fingertips tingled just touching her. Leaning forward he swooped in and claimed her lips, forcing her mouth open to do battle with her tongue.

The cliff Electra had been balancing on, fell away from beneath her. Her body alive with pleasure as Slink took his from her.

He caught her moans of delight with his mouth, her electricity buzzing through him. He felt the sudden rush of dopamine and relaxed into the endorphins. This was the closest he'd had to orgasm since they'd stolen his penis. At the moment he released her and turned off her pulse charge, Slink knew, no matter what, Electra had to win the race; if this was the closest he was having to sexual freedom, he was keeping her.

He watched as Electra's body succumbed to post-coital drowsiness. Standing, he carefully bundled her into his arms and carried her to his bed.

She would be the first woman to lie with him in decades, and he would be appreciative of the company.

As he drifted off into sleep, a cog in his mind noted that she looked dreadfully familiar. Yet he couldn't place her.

. . .

_Heart Enterprises_

_Admin Office_

Flossy was sitting at her desk, the interdepartmental memo lying open across her keyboard. She'd been summoned to see the Old Man.

This was it, her time was up. It was game over.

She'd already boxed up her things, the office no longer looked personal. The box of photographs and evidence she'd been keeping safe for Slink, Flossy had hidden in his car. There were big changes coming, and it wouldn't be too long before Julian was shifted from his precious race; he'd find what she'd left behind.

Closing down her computer for the final time, Flossy initiated her death protocols. If the time ever came, and by good God she hoped it did, Electra would have all of the help and support she needed.

On her march up to the board room, Flossy said her goodbyes. She wouldn't be seeing another day. There was no chance of her being thrown through the soul reclaimator.

This was the end of the line.

Her project was being terminated.


End file.
